Imprisoned
by pacphys
Summary: Imprisoned by Bishop, Michelangelo questions his own sanity and perhaps saves his brother's in the process.
1. Hello

**A/N:**This piece was inspired by the song Hello by Evanescence. Of course the lyrics are not present and it doesn't exactly follow the song, but the parallels do exist between the two. 

**Disclaimer:** I lay absolutely no claim to any character in this story. They are the brilliant creations of Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird. They now belong to Mirage Studios and a whole host of people who are not me. I make no money from this and I mean no harm. Please don't sue. I also do not own any of the songs these chapters take their inspiration from.

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**Imprisoned**

Michelangelo was alone for now. Like every day for the past... he didn't know how long it had been anymore. All he knew was that every day they came and took his brother away from him, leaving him alone to rot in the too bright cell. White, florescent light exuded from every surface of the room. Everything was plastic and lit from the inside, or outside, depending on your point of view. The walls gave off a glaring light, as did the plastic beds, the commode and the small sink. They had taken his belt, weapons and pads, but for some reason, the scientists had allowed him to keep his mask. His only guess for this was so they could tell the difference between him and his brother.

He hated the place, hated it with a passion. Raised as a creature of shadow he found that it was in the dark that he was most at home. Shadows hid him from prying eyes, from those who might do him harm. Well, usually they did. He had made a mistake, and it had cost him and his brother dearly.

Mikey had been warned. Donnie had objected to the idea. Objected rather strenuously for him. But Mikey had persisted and eventually his brother had given in. Donnie had been right, again. They had been hopping rooftops to their final stop for the evening when they were accosted by Bishop and several of his operatives. Mikey sighed at the memory and searched in vain for a darker spot in the room. The blinding light was omnipresent. He couldn't get away.

"Hello."

Mikey jumped at the sound of the voice. It was familiar somehow, but he could not place it. He quickly schooled his features into something less revealing. Early on, before the end of their first evening in the chamber, and before they had taken Donnie away for the first time, the purple masked turtle had quietly suggested that they were probably being watched. Michelangelo had to agree with the assessment, and he had been careful to hide his emotions since their arrival and the subsequent tortures.

"Hello"

"Who's there?" Mikey asked quietly into his arm so his words could not be seen. He didn't know if there was audio surveillance, but if there wasn't he didn't want anyone reading his lips.

"You... me."

This confused the orange masked turtle, and he thought for the first time that maybe he was truly losing it. Michelangelo fought to retain his sanity. He had to. Someone had to, and he was really the only one left who could. Mike had witnessed his brother's descent, physically and mentally. He knew that if they didn't get out of here soon that he would lose Donnie forever, if it wasn't already too late. He sighed and made a decision.

"I don't understand." Mike told the voice quietly.

"What do you want more than anything in the world right now?"

"I want out of here." Mikey replied quickly and without thought.

"Really, you want out of here right now? You want to leave this very moment?"

Mikey thought for a moment before he answered. "No. No I don't."

"Why?"

"Because I can't leave without Donnie." Michelangelo responded.

"What if Donatello is already lost?"

"He's not. Buried maybe, but he's not lost yet. I can't believe that... I won't."

Some part of Mikey saw the owner of the voice nod in understanding, but there was no one to see. He tried to place the voice again with no success. What was happening was beyond his comprehension and Michelangelo decided that he would rather let it happen than fight it. Maybe it was drugs that Bishop had put in the food, in the air, in the water, or maybe it was madness finally getting the better of him. His mind slowly slipping away as Donnie's had what seemed like forever ago. Mikey's thoughts were interrupted again.

"What do you want more than anything in the world right now?"

This time Mike gave his answer more thought before he spoke. He considered all the possibilities. Being home with his family kept coming to the fore, but that seemed like too much to ask. No, that wasn't the answer the voice was looking for. He searched for the strongest desire he had at the moment; he searched himself, searched his very soul. The voice was patient and Mikey could 'see' the owner of the voice waiting quietly for an answer. Michelangelo still could not picture the owner of the voice, but he got the impression of what the being was doing. The voice's patience struck him as he continued to ponder the question. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he responded.

"I want someone to talk to." Mike replied simply. The voice nodded and smiled. He recognized the gesture, the smile and the nod, but they seemed out of place, almost as though they belonged to someone other than the voice did. Again, he tried to place the voice.

"Me too."

This was strange. He didn't understand. Everything that the voice said reminded him of someone, but he couldn't figure out who it was. After a moment he realized that it wasn't one person that the voice reminded him of. That explained the out-of-placeness he had noticed earlier. But recognizing the multiple personalities in the voice did nothing to help him determine who's voice it was, or who those other personalities were. This realization was startling. Multiple personalities. That wasn't a good thing, that wasn't a sane thing.

"I am here."

Mike started at the voice. "Who are you?" He asked. He felt like a broken record and had a feeling that he already knew how the voice would respond.

"You already know who I am."

"I don't understand." Michelangelo told the voice.

"You don't have to."

The orange-masked turtle got the distinct impression that he was being talked in circles, but he accepted it. "Why are you here?"

"Because you need me."

"Does that mean that you will leave when I don't need you anymore?"

"Yes."

"So when we get free you will go away?"

"Not necessarily."

"But if we're free then I won't need you anymore." Mike insisted.

"If that is true then yes, I will leave. If that is not true then I will remain. It is really up to you, Mikey."

Only one person said his name like that, but, just like earlier, he couldn't place who it was, and the inflections felt out of place with the voice he heard. Michelangelo eventually gave up and accepted the voice without any other questions. He realized that who it was was not important. It didn't matter who he was talking to so long as he was talking to someone.

The voice allowed Mikey to enter another place. Michelangelo was out of his little cell, away from the cold, harsh lights and hidden in shadow where he belonged. Part of him knew it was a lie, knew that the shadow was all in his mind. It didn't matter where the shadow was. It didn't matter if the shadow was real or not. What mattered was that it was there. There for him to hide in, even if it wasn't tangible. With the voice there, Mikey found himself in a much better place. Somewhere he could hide in the shadows he needed so badly. He pushed aside his horrible surroundings and allowed himself to hide in the lie.

Footsteps down the hall snapped him back to the harsh reality of his present situation. Two guards opened the door and Mikey stepped to the far wall, having learned long ago that if he didn't then they would shock him into unconsciousness, and that simply wouldn't do. Two more guards threw his brother into the cell. Donatello didn't offer any resistance, and probably couldn't resist even if he had the presence of mind to want to, which was something Mikey had his doubts about. Mike watched as he purple-masked brother dropped to the floor in the center of the room like a brick. Donnie's plastron hit the floor hard with a loud crack that made Mikey sick. From his spot against the wall, Michelangelo watched the guards as they silently exited the room, leaving the two turtles in peace. As soon as the guards were gone, Mikey raced to his brother's side.

"Donnie?" Mikey asked. When he got no response he tried again, a little more insistently. "Donnie!"

Donatello, for his part, managed to open and shift his eyes so he was looking directly at Michelangelo.

"Oh Donnie, shell! I'm sorry I got you into this, bro. It's all my fault. Can you forgive me?" Mike had done this every night for as long as they had been here. Early on, Donnie had responded, insisting that it wasn't Mikey's fault, it was Bishop's and no one else's. He'd made jokes that Mikey was acting like Leo and that had calmed the orange-masked turtle somewhat. Those jokes were long gone now, along with any sign that Donnie was still present. His body was alive, but it had been so long since Mikey had managed to get a response of any kind from his brother.

Mikey took note of Donnie's new cuts and bruises. The fresh, tell-tale slice of a scalpel in the soft flesh between Don's carapace and plastron made Michelangelo's blood boil. He hated this place, hated everything about it. He wanted out, and he wanted his brother back. Mike did what little he could for Donnie's new injuries and spoke quietly to his brother, expecting no response.

"Hey Donnie. I think I'm beginning to lose it too. I know you didn't mean to leave me, but I really need you right now. I need something, Donnie. Prove to me that you're still in there."

A long silence followed in which nothing was said. Mikey picked up his brother and moved him to the lower bunk in the room.

"Mi... key." Don forced out as Mike tucked the single sheet around him.

Michelangelo was too shocked to say anything in response. As it turned out, he didn't have to, because his brother wasn't finished with what he had to say.

"Thank you."

Now the orange-masked turtle was more than confused. "Thank you for what?"

"Talking." Without another word, Donatello drifted off to sleep.


	2. Imaginary

**A/N: **This chapter is based on another Evanescence song, Imaginary. 

**Disclaimer:** I lay absolutely no claim to the characters in this story. Michelangelo, Donatello, and Bishop are most certainly not mine, no matter how cool that would be. I do not get paid for this and I mean no harm. Please don't sue.

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**Imaginary**

He didn't know for sure where he was anymore. It didn't matter. There was no past, no future, there was only now. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

Something grabbed at his attention. Yanked him away from his former position. It was insistent, dragging at his body and mind in a way that seemed foreign, yet familiar. As through it had happened sometime before, but he didn't remember how, why or where. It didn't matter.

He had two choices, and lingered between them. In front of him lay uncertainty, and that uncertainty terrified him more than he could explain. The unknown could always be scary if you allowed it to be, but he knew that it was more than just that normal fear. Some lost part of him was aware of what lay beyond the door, and that part didn't want to go back there, especially not today. Today, something particularly heinous lay beyond that door. Behind him was a place that was familiar, a place where he was happy.

Turning around and ignoring whatever had grabbed his attention he returned to the familiar world. He looked around the place. A soft, warm breeze caressed his cheek. It wasn't hot or cold, it was comfortable. Quietly, he lay down on the soft, green grass among the flowers and gazed up at the sky. White clouds danced high above him and some part of him insisted that something was wrong with the picture. He ignored the niggling little voice. There was nothing wrong with the sky. It was his favorite color, and he liked it that way.

He didn't know anymore what was the dream and what was reality. The distinction didn't exist now, and for a brief moment he wondered if it ever had. No, if it didn't exist now whether it ever existed was irrelevant. Nothing existed beyond the moment.

Without his consent, he found himself in the doorway again. Something was definitely wrong in front of him. Something was happening that wasn't right, and shouldn't be allowed. It wasn't as physically painful as it had been in the past, but something about it was just more wrong than most of what he saw on the other side of the door. He fled from the doorway back into a world of green grass, brightly colored flowers and purple skies.

He looked around the place. A soft, warm breeze caressed his cheek. It wasn't hot, it was comfortable. Quietly, he lay down on the soft grass among the flowers and gazed up at the sky. White clouds danced high above him and some part of him insisted that something was wrong with the picture. He ignored the niggling little voice. There was nothing wrong with the sky. It was his favorite color and he liked it that way. A vague sense of deja vu tickled the back of his mind, but he easily suppressed it.

"Hello."

He looked around him for the source of the intrusion and found no one. If no one was there then it didn't matter. He looked back up at the purple sky and watched the clouds dance.

"Hello." The voice prompted a second time.

Fine, if it wanted to talk, he'd talk. "Hello." He responded simply.

"What are you doing?"

"Watching the sky. It's a pretty sky. Do you like it?" He asked. Something about the voice was familiar, but he didn't give it too much thought. The past didn't matter. Nothing mattered except right now. The voice surprised him when it spoke again. He'd forgotten that it was there.

"You don't belong here, you know."

"I do belong here. I am happy here. It is out there where I do not belong." He replied. The voice didn't speak for a long moment and he thought it had left him in peace.

He heard something. It felt more detached than the voice he had been speaking to a moment ago was. The sound was familiar and he took shelter in it.

"How can you listen to that screaming?" The voice asked after a moment. It sounded like it was pained by the sound. Like the sound physically hurt the owner of the voice.

"It's worse when it stops. It's a good sound." He concluded. The voice obviously didn't agree, but remained silent.

Some part of him was happy to be talking to someone. He didn't know who the last conversation he had had was with, nor did he know when it had been, but that didn't matter.

"_What if Donatello is already lost?" _

"_He's not. Buried maybe, but he's not lost yet. I can't believe that... I won't." _

There were two new voices now. Two different and distinct voices, yet both were somehow familiar.

"Who's Donatello?" He asked, but received no answer. Just a look from the voice he first had spoken to earlier. As quickly as they had appeared they were gone and he was alone again. They no longer mattered, and he turned his attention back to the puffy clouds and purple sky overhead. There was nothing wrong with the sky. In fact, it was even more accurate than a blue sky as the color wasn't biased by the sensitivities of his eyes within the visible light spectrum. He briefly wondered where the thought came from, but dismissed it as unimportant.

He found himself in the doorway again. What lay on the other side was wrong: painful physically, mentally, emotionally. It wasn't something he wanted to happen. It shouldn't be allowed to happen, he should do something to stop it. This was not ok. Part of him knew that if he ever escaped this place, his life would be very different. Some piece of his being, one that remembered things from the past, recognized what was happening on the other side of the door as a trigger that had sent him to the world with the purple sky in the first place. That same piece knew that he had to escape.

"Escape where?" He asked anyone who cared to listen.

"Bishop." The voice he had heard earlier answered.

He recognized the word as a name. A name that had some horrible experiences attached to it. Terrible experiences that were nothing compared to what was now happening. He shuddered and turned around again.

He lay down amongst the flowers and gazed up at the cottony clouds in the purple sky above him.

No longer did he have any concept of time or its passage, but he was left alone. The voice no longer tried for his attention.

"Donnie?" Someone asked. It was a familiar voice, but the word it spoke... "Donnie!"

He stood at the door again. This time what waited on the other side of the door was not as terrifying as what had been there earlier. He felt obligated somehow to respond this time.

"_What if Donatello is already lost?" _The memory came unbidden, but this time he had an answer for it.

_I'm Donatello, I'm here._ He realized. _And the person talking to me is..._ He managed to open and shift his eyes so he was looking directly at Michelangelo.

In his mind, Donatello saw Michelangelo. The orange masked turtle threw him a rope. Some long forgotten piece of his being knew he had to catch that rope, and for the first time ever, as far as he was concerned, he listened to that part of himself.

"Oh Donnie, shell! I'm sorry I got you into this, bro. It's all my fault. Can you forgive me?" The words were familiar. Donatello couldn't remember why the words were familiar, and he could no longer remember what the words were exactly. After a moment he decided that it didn't matter.

Donatello. He was getting more used to the name that had to be his own, could feel someone touching him. The touch was different than the ones that some part of him knew had been on the other side of the door earlier. These were gentle, kind. The touch grazed his side, it hurt and Donatello almost dropped the rope and retreated to the other side of the door that he could still see from where he was, but something made him stop. He heard words again.

"Hey Donnie. I think I'm beginning to lose it too. I know you didn't mean to leave me, but I really need you right now. I need something, Donnie. Prove to me that you're still in there."

Some part of him recognized the nickname. _Donnie._ He recognized it as his own. _"_..._I need something, Donnie." _Donatello readjusted his grip on the rope and jumped, secure in the knowledge that Michelangelo wouldn't let him fall.

Even though Donatello wasn't sure if he could give Michelangelo what he sought. A single word found its way to lips that hadn't spoken in more than two weeks.

"Mi... key." Donnie forced out.

Emboldened by the word that seemed strange to his ears, but familiar to his mouth he continued to speak. Donatello knew the word he had already spoken to be another version of Michelangelo's name though he could not remember his relationship to Mikey. All that mattered to him at the moment was that Mikey had been kind. And had been so earlier too. _Earlier?_ He didn't remember what the word meant, but knew that what he was about to say was right.

"Thank you."

"Thank you for what?" Michelangelo sounded confused, but Donatello was not. Now more than ever he knew that what he said was right. He remembered the voice and somehow knew that Michelangelo had said something that struck him.

"Talking." Without another word, Donatello drifted off to sleep.


	3. My Immortal

**A/N:** Another Evanescence song was used to write this chapter: My Immortal. Also, Special thanks to the wonderfully talented Vice President of Angst **Chibi Rose Angel** for the beta! (I hope I got that title right.)

**Disclaimer:** I lay absolutely no claim to the characters in this story. Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, Leonardo, Raphael and Bishop are most certainly not mine, no matter how cool that would be. I do not get paid for this and I mean no harm. Please don't sue.

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**_Splinter_**

Splinter reached out and searched for his two wayward sons. He'd been able to find Michelangelo's presence since their disappearance, but it was weaker today than it had been in the past. Donatello's presence had been strong for a few days, but by the end of the first week, it became evanescent then faded completely. He hadn't felt it since that time. The only evidence he had that Donatello was still alive was through Michelangelo.

Three weeks they had been gone, and Splinter was sure they were being tortured by someone. He had his suspicions as to who had taken the two turtles, but did not speak them aloud. Three weeks ago Splinter's worst fear became reality. His only solace was in knowing that the people who he suspected of taking his sons weren't interested in the general populace knowing about them.

Michelangelo's presence slipped away from him, and Splinter sighed. Neither one of his lost sons could be reached right now, and the possibilities were terrifying. The old rat sighed again as he stood and made his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea. The lair had become a cold and empty place without Michelangelo and Donatello there. He cinched his robe more tightly around himself.

Splinter deftly side-stepped a skateboard that lay in the middle of the floor in the main room. No one had the heart to move it since doing so would be to admit that Michelangelo was not coming back. Raphael and Leonardo had each stepped on the board and fallen hard early on, but they had learned where it was now and could navigate around the obstruction, even in a pitch black only attainable underground. Both remaining turtles were obstinate in their insistence that the board remain exactly as it was.

Warming the teapot on the stove, Splinter fought against the sudden urge to slam the stove off and throw the pot against the wall. He couldn't remember a time when he wanted out of a room as badly as he wanted out of the kitchen right now. Everything in there reminded him of at least one of his two missing sons. Michelangelo had become quite the cook and could often be found in this room, and the appliances themselves held memories of each lost turtle.

One such memory was Michelangelo's early attempts at eggs over easy, which somehow turned into 'funky looking scrambled'. Later, he had become fond of sunny-side up, and Splinter had found that rather fitting. The stove he was using to heat the teapot, the microwave nestled in a cabinet from which the doors had been carefully removed, the refrigerator, even the hot water in the sink had been courtesy of Donatello, whom he hadn't had any sort of contact with in over two weeks now.

Splinter slammed his hands against the counter top. "They shouldn't be missing!"

Donatello and Michelangelo should be home going about their evening: joking with their brothers, playing those silly video games they all seemed to enjoy, reading, anything other than whatever was happening to them.

He remembered.

He remembered the little things, the little moments as they were growing up. Thunderstorms that echoed so loudly in the sewers that four little bodies inevitably joined him in his bed and steadfastly remained there long after the storm had dissipated. The first storm Raphael and Leonardo had remained in their own beds Michelangelo had been terrified that the storm would get his brothers. Eventually, he had gone off, with Donatello, in search of the two who hadn't shown. Splinter found all four of them curled around each other in Leonardo's bed the next morning.

He remembered when Michelangelo had been left out in the dark sewers scared half to death. He remembered finding Donatello inexplicably hanging by his carapace from a pipe seven feet off the floor. In each of those cases there wasn't much Splinter could do for them, other than calm them down and spend a little time with them one on one.

There were good times too.

An image of Raphael and Donatello talking excitedly about something one or the other had done to the Shell Cycle. Michelangelo's unsuccessful attempt at baking a cake that resulted in Leonardo exiting the kitchen ghost white, covered from head to toe in flour.

Whether they were actually, physically in the lair or not, Splinter couldn't escape their ghostly presence. He'd been with them through it all, and they, all four of them, would forever have his heart and soul, even if only two remained.

Michelangelo had always been so full of life, so energetic, and his eternal optimism was contagious. Splinter had felt that optimism fading over the past weeks, and that broke his heart. Donatello also had an unmistakable presence that once experienced was not soon forgotten. He was a silent support, a presence most noticeable when it was missing, like oil. Splinter remembered an incident long ago when Donatello had neglected to put oil in a motor he had turned on and the rather noisy results of that little mistake. Not much would make him happier than to find that oil, if only for a moment.

The teapot screamed and pulled Splinter from his reverie. No one else noticed the screaming kettle because no one else was home. Leonardo and Raphael had not taken the disappearance of their brothers well.

Each morning the two turtles would make an appearance in the lair. Leonardo coming home covered in dirt and grime from a tough night searching anywhere and everywhere. Raphael would return similarly coated, but with the addition of cuts and bruises he had earned 'burning off steam' at the seemingly hopeless search. They cleaned themselves up, got some sleep, and did so civilly.

But once they awoke later in the day, it didn't take long for the fighting to begin. Emotions were running high and that was how they worked off their tensions. Splinter just wished they had a slightly less destructive method of doing so.

Losing Michelangelo's presence tonight was difficult, more difficult than Splinter would willingly admit. If his presence disappeared as completely as Donatello's had then Splinter would have no choice but to consider his sons gone. That was something he just was not ready to do.

They weren't here, they hadn't been in three weeks, and yet they weren't gone either, not as long as Michelangelo could be reached.

Every time Splinter reached out to his orange masked son his heart lifted. Regrettably, he always had to cut the contact. Every day he had to let go of his son a little more. He knew that Donatello and Michelangelo would have to be found soon if they were to be found at all. Michelangelo's weakening presence was enough to tell him that.

Splinter knew that his searches for Michelangelo were a sign of something else too. When it came right down to it, Splinter was alone. He had been all along. Ever since Michelangelo and Donatello had gone missing, and Leonardo and Raphael went out searching. No one was home when all four should be there with him. Finding Michelangelo always seemed to bring them home in some sense, no matter how small.

Splinter finished his tea and returned to his position on his tatami mat to, once again, searched for his missing sons.

He managed to find Michelangelo this time and he smiled, knowing that all was not yet lost. There was still time for at least one of them. Reaching a little deeper Splinter felt something else.

It was just a soft glimmer, a shadow of what it once was, but it was there. The quick flash faded and disappeared again after a moment, and Splinter thought that maybe it had been his imagination. He was just about to give up his search when he felt it again, stronger this time. The flash lasted longer and burned a little brighter than its predecessor.

It was weak, but unmistakably Donatello.

Splinter watched as Donatello took a leap of faith, trusting his brother with his fragile grip on reality. Reaching out again, Splinter found his other missing son's mind. Splinter smiled, secure in the knowledge that, at least for now, Michelangelo was up to the task his brother had entrusted him with.

What Michelangelo could not possibly know was that he'd just bought his family some time.

Leonardo walked in several hours later and Splinter looked up at his grimy son. There was something in the young man's eyes that he had previously thought extinguished... hope.


	4. Pieces

**A/N:** Raph's up next, his song is Pieces, by Hoobastank. I just couldn't make Evanescence songs fit him very well. Only one left after this.

**Disclaimer: **I own NOTHING! The turtles and associated characters belong to people who are not me, and I don't get paid for this, other than the (hopefully) kind words of reviewers so please, please, please don't sue.

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**Pieces**

Raphael knew that he had been in a downward spiral for three weeks now. Every night that he went out and searched for his brothers, only to come home empty handed, he could feel another piece of himself die.

If you had told him that he could hurt like this a month ago, he wouldn't have believed you. There was nothing he could do to change the circumstances, and nothing he tried had helped improve them. Every night he went out in search of his lost bothers, and each morning he came home beaten, bruised and covered in dirt and grime.

He fought.

He fought everything he came across that was worth fighting. It gave him a brief respite from the pain of losing Mikey and Donnie. Without them he felt like he was drowning.  
Drowning in Leo's lectures.  
Drowning Splinter's disappointment at his nightly brawling.  
Drowning in spilled blood: his own and that of his opponents.  
Drowning in loss.

Nothing he tried seemed to help. Nothing he did could change the past, and it sometimes seemed that nothing could bring his brothers back to him. He needed Mikey, and he needed Donnie. Raphael had once believed that he didn't need anyone. While he could never bring himself to leave his family of his own volition, he hadn't really believed that he needed them. Boy, had he been wrong.

Out on the streets again, like every night for the past three weeks, Raphael revved the engine of the Shell Cycle. Part of him knew that even if they were to find his brothers that Mikey and Donnie probably wouldn't be the same turtles who had disappeared. Time changes people, and torture can change them even more. There was no doubt in Raph's mind that his brothers were being tortured.

When he was home during the day he could almost feel Donnie and Mikey in the lair. He could almost convince himself that they were there with him. Unfortunately, their presence remained just out of reach. The day passed without a single prank or joke from Michelangelo. Raph could spend hours on end in the warehouse working on the Shell Cycle without Donatello coming up to work on another of the vehicles, look for a tool or even chat auto shop.

Raphael pushed the engine a little harder in his search. Someday soon, they would find Mikey and Donnie. They would find them and rebuild their little family. There simply wasn't another option. Maybe it wouldn't be like it was, but Raphael would have his family back. He made that promise to himself and to his missing brothers.

It hadn't been that long ago that Raphael had been unsure of what he wanted. Not much time had passed since he had considered leaving his family for a time to search for himself. None of his brothers had liked the idea and Splinter hadn't been particularly fond of it either, but part of Raphael had once felt it necessary. He no longer felt that way. Now he knew what he wanted. He wanted Mikey to put orange Kool-aid powder in the shower head and obsess about pizza. He wanted Donnie to pull some bizarre thing, like one of his inventions or maybe that pigeon puppet, _where did he get that thing anyway?_, out of his magic bag of tricks to get them out of a tight spot, and he wanted Mikey to make fun of the sillier things that managed to get into that bag.

No matter how much he wanted them back the way they had been, it may never again be in the cards, but it was something that he could strive for. It also wasn't something that he was willing to give up on just yet. Losing Mikey and Donnie had really knocked some sense into him. Raph just wished that the sense had come under different circumstances. It didn't matter how often or how viciously he argued with Leonardo, and they did argue. What mattered was that they were family and that they were together, but he still couldn't tell Leo that. Some part of him was sure that Leo already knew. Raph decided that maybe he would give his brother a break today, try to keep his cool and help rather than fighting everything.

He raced through the city streets. Everything seemed deserted in this part of town at this hour, but Raph knew that when the day started and people came to work that the streets would be packed with cars, motorcycles and pedestrians.

An individual dressed in black slipped out of a window on the third story of a nearby office building. Raph spotted the individual easily and pulled into an alley where he shut down his bike and went to work. He returned to the alley after gift wrapping the young man for the police.

Raphael didn't feel any better. He knew that no one in his family approved of his little fights. In his mind, he could see Leo standing at the door to their home waiting for him with his arms crossed. Donnie's quiet sigh, knowing that a fight would be starting momentarily, echoed through his brain, and he heard Mikey turn up the volume on the TV in preparation. It was like they were all right there waiting for him, even though his mind knew otherwise. He felt like he was letting his brothers down by taking time out from his search, but he couldn't help himself. With a low growl of frustration, he started his bike again and raced off into the night. They had to be somewhere, and between himself, Leo, Splinter, Casey and April most of the city had been thoroughly scoured.

Mikey and Donnie had to be in the city, Raphael was sure of that from what Splinter said, it was just a matter of finding them. Leo and Raph had to be close to finding their brothers. There just weren't that many places left for them to be. The possibility of them being moved around crossed Raph's mind and he tried to push it away. They were close, they had to be, if for no other reason than that Raph needed his family back.

Finding them might be just the start of the battle. There was no telling what kind of shape they'd find the missing turtles in. With each passing day, Raph had less hope of finding them physically and mentally healthy. He could feel himself drowning in that knowledge, and it took him a moment to pull himself together. Raphael decided that he didn't care how he found his brothers; as long as he found them alive he would never give up on getting them back. Giving up simply was not an option. Donnie and Mikey needed him and he would be there for them, no matter what.

Raph's thoughts drifted to how much his life had changed in the past few weeks. He felt much more alone and angrier than ever. It was hard to control that anger, and he fought daily with Leo now. Sure, he'd fought with his brother before, but not with this frequency. The anger with his brother was displaced and he knew it, but that didn't help him get rid of it. No, he'd have to figure out that one by himself, it was just another piece. Pieces were lying everywhere.

Himself.  
Mikey.  
Donnie.  
Leo.  
Master Splinter.

Five separate pieces of his life that had once been a single unit. He wanted them to be whole again, to be a family again.

His fighting had gotten out of control. Leo didn't deserve the constant bickering, and he knew he had been overly vicious out on the streets lately. These pieces of his life had blown out of proportion with the breaking of his family, and he didn't like where these pieces were taking him. It was a dark road that he traveled, just as dark as the New York street that stretched before him. His family was a burnt out streetlight, and he needed that light. In order to get the light back he would have to turn around, head back the way he had come and start picking up the pieces; starting with Leo who was, at least, still physically present in his life. The sun was just beginning to lighten the night sky, it was early yet, but Raph wanted to talk to his brother. He performed a U-turn in the darkened street and headed for home.


	5. Whisper

**Disclaimer:** As usual, I own nothing, I make no money, I mean no harm, please don't sue. Thanky!

**A/N:** I do know that it has been a while for this one, but here is the final chapter. This one is based on Evanescence's song 'Whisper'. This is the END of this story, no more. Also, a HUGE thank you to my beta reader **Chibi Rose Angel** who has gotten this back despite all the things going on in her life at the moment. Thanks Chica! Also Thank you to all those who reviewed the last chapter. Also, a huge thank you to any and all who have reviewed previous chapters! Also, thanks to those of you who read, but didn't leave a review. Now, without further ado...

* * *

**Whisper**

Leonardo raced over the rooftops of New York City. Even with the freedom borne of his mode of transportation he felt trapped: trapped by circumstances, trapped by his family, trapped by what made him different. He had searched here before, had come up empty. He had no reason to believe that tonight would be any different, but he had to look again anyway.

"Why them?" Leo shouted to the night sky above him. "Why them? Why any of us? What did we do to deserve this?" He questioned aloud.

There was no response. Not that Leo had really expected one. His shoulders slumped momentarily as he gave in to the hurt caused by the disappearance of his brothers. After a moment, he looked up again. Leo gritted his teeth and continued his run. He was going to find them, one way or another.

Leo pushed away the pain he felt aside. Having lost Mikey and Donnie like that had hurt him deeply. He knew he would forever carry these scars, even if by some miracle his brothers were returned home safely. Even though he had been here before, Leo searched the area as thoroughly as he had the first time. He wasn't ready to give up on his brothers just yet. Three weeks, so much could happen in that time. Time may not have been on his side, but Leo couldn't turn his back on his brothers, not now, not ever. As much as he would have liked to burrow into a little hole and hide there, he couldn't do that. His family needed him. Some part of him could hear his brothers calling his name, begging him to find them, begging him not to give up yet. Telling him that they were still out there, waiting for him. **  
**

No, Leo wouldn't give up on them just yet. Something told him that he was close, and that time was short. He ran faster and searched for anything out of the ordinary. Soon he had returned to the warehouse district. It was a long way from the junk yard his brothers had been visiting the night they had disappeared, but there was no rule that they hadn't been moved, and Leo was fairly certain that they had been, and probably more than once. As he leapt to the next roof, he noticed something that hadn't been there before. He silently descended from the roof and got a closer look at the object.

Even to Leo's unskilled eye the generator was too large, too powerful and too new for anything that might be happening in a normal abandoned warehouse. Quickly and silently, Leo returned to the roof of the building where he would remain until he knew more about what was going on here. Even if it wasn't where his brothers were being kept, it was suspicious. Two hours into Leo's impromptu stake-out, a large black truck, not entirely unlike the armored car they had turned into the Battle Shell, pulled up beside the building.

A loading door opened and light spilled out into the night. Leo heard a car door slam then the sound of two voices. He didn't recognize the first voice, but the brisk manner of speaking was familiar. The second voice sent shivers racing up his spine: Bishop.

Keeping to the shadows and being careful not to reveal his presence on the roof of the building, Leo strained to hear the conversation. One sentence was all he needed to be sure.

"No sir, transport went smoothly, they were no trouble at all."

Leo heard the door closing and muffling the rest of the conversation. In a bold and possibly foolhardy act, he reconnoitered the building on his own. He knew better than to try to take on Bishop or the warehouse which was sure to have more security than your standard fortress by himself, but that didn't stop him from learning all he could about the building.

Inside the warehouse had been redesigned to have three levels. A room on the second floor chilled Leo to the bone. He'd seen a room like this before. A table had leather straps that were obviously used to tie someone down. Saws, needles, scalpels and various other sharp instruments were carefully laid out. He knew exactly what this room was for. The icy chill in his bones quickly turned to fiery hot rage. Leo continued to survey the building, being careful to stay out of the path of any guards who happened to be patrolling, and being even more careful of what might be surveillance equipment. He wished Donnie was with him as his purple masked brother had always been better at spotting and recognizing that sort of thing.

Now that Leo had come this far, there was no way he was going to let this go unpunished. He would get his brothers back, no matter what state he found them in. A comment from Splinter had assured Leo that Mikey was still ok, but Leo wasn't sure about the state of his other missing brother. It made no difference to Leo how he found his brothers so long as they were alive. Leo made a dark promise to himself: one day he would make Bishop regret his actions. Leo swore that Bishop would pay for the atrocities committed against his family, and he would pay that debt with interest.

Leo dipped into a light meditative state and searched for the presence of his brothers. He wanted to make sure that his suspicions were correct. Michelangelo's presence had changed slightly over the past few weeks, but Leo would recognize his brother anywhere. He searched for Donnie, but didn't hold out much hope of finding his mind. All the same, Leo sighed when he didn't find his brother.

Part of him wanted to leave this place. Leave it behind him. It had been so long that he didn't hold out much hope of his brothers recovering from their ordeal. Part of him wanted to let them go. Leo pushed that part of himself to the darkest corner of his mind, where it belonged, and glared determinedly at the building housing his brothers who had been gone for so long.

He'd found his missing family members. For three weeks he thought that was going to be the hard part. Now he realized that he had been wrong. The hard part was going to be getting them back, and that was just beginning.

The little voice that belonged to the piece of him that had already considered his brothers lost whispered in his ear. It told him that even if he did get them out that there would be nothing left to rescue. Leo had felt it in Mikey's mind. Donnie was already gone, and Michelangelo knew that he wasn't far behind. The little voice was insistent that it wasn't worth Leo's time or effort. It begged him to stop fighting.

Leo couldn't do that. Nothing was lost yet. He would not give into the piece of himself that housed the little voice. He would not turn his back on his family. He would not let the pain of having them gone for so long defeat him. He would not shy away from their need for help. He _would_ do everything in his power to get them back. He _would _keep his hope alive. Most importantly, he would never, _ever_ give up.

Considering that little piece of his mind that insisted on crawling out of it's hiding place where he kept putting it, Leo made a decision. He quashed the little voice. Smashed it with everything he had. He knew where his brothers were, and that was the best start they could hope for. Master Splinter and Raphael would be at his side in planning and executing the rescue attempt. He even knew that at least one of his lost brothers was relatively safe and sound, awaiting rescue. It was well more than enough to justify the attempt.

A long battle would still lay ahead of him and his family even after his brothers were returned home. He knew that. He didn't delude himself into thinking that the war would end with the return of his brothers. This was the only the first battle; the war was just beginning.

**The End**


End file.
